


and if it’s just tonight well it’s all in love

by pearwaldorf



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Post-Trespasser, Reunion Sex, Wham! Splat! Porn!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-25
Updated: 2015-10-25
Packaged: 2018-04-28 02:08:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,519
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5073448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pearwaldorf/pseuds/pearwaldorf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He pens a note, throws a raven in the air, and instructs a servant to deliver a message to Mae.</p><p>
  <i>I will be gone for a few days, for my usual sojourn. Please keep watch over things while I am away.</i>
</p><p> <br/>Post-Trespasser. Contains spoilers for the Dorian/Iron Bull romance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and if it’s just tonight well it’s all in love

**Author's Note:**

> This is my entry for [Wham! Splat! Porn!](http://wham-splat-porn.tumblr.com/) I was tagged by [captaincorale](http://captaincorale.tumblr.com/) with "[La Luna](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cPtKMv_-NCU)" by Lucy Schwartz. Thank you for a lovely prompt and I hope I did it justice.

The constellations in the sky rise and fall throughout the year, and Dorian looks up at them from his balcony in Minrathous. Even now, as a Magister long comfortable in his position, he still expects to see more stars than the ambient light of the city will allow. He does not miss sleeping on the ground (usually with a rock in his back) or the terrible camp food, but being on watch in the small hours of the morning, gazing up at the sky? There was a quiet peace he is rarely able to touch now. He, Maevaris, and the Lucerni have done many of the things they set out to accomplish, and he regrets none of the things he has done to make them so; but still, there is a pang of nostalgia for his days in the Inquisition.

He sees that Eluvia now climbs high above the horizon, and smiles. He pens a note, throws a raven in the air, and instructs a servant to deliver a message to Mae.

_I will be gone for a few days, for my usual sojourn. Please keep watch over things while I am away._

\--

Dorian is, for the most part now, a sensible and realistic man, but every time he comes to this copse on the border he worries he will be left waiting. There was that time the Chargers were delayed by a mudslide, with no way to send word ahead. Or the year during the war when it seemed every qunari within glaring distance of Tevinter borders was locked up or disappeared, as a “precautionary measure”. But eventually, he always showed up, crushing Dorian in his arms as Dorian’s knees buckled in relief.

There is a rustle, deliberate noise made to announce a presence, and Bull steps into the clearing. He moves a little slower now, his knee giving him more grief over time, but he is still robust and hale as when Dorian first met him, so many years ago in Redcliffe. The look in his eye when he sees Dorian though, that only grows warmer and softer as time marches on. Once that openness of feeling would have made Dorian uncomfortable, but he is no longer that young man, afraid of the strength of his own affections or those of others.

“You look good,” Bull says, trying to be subtle in his once-over. He worries, and Dorian lets him, because if he doesn’t, he tries to fix things or make them safer, and that works out terribly when danger is inherent in Tevinter political machinations. 

“I always do.” The retort is automatic, and expected, but there is no heat behind it. (He always does though; it is incontrovertible.)

“What I meant was you don’t look like you’re working yourself too hard. Not like last year.” Bull brushes a stray bit of hair out of Dorian’s eyes. Dorian makes a face, not wanting to concede the point. It was a very busy legislative session, and required many long nights, cajoling and negotiating with possibly sympathetic magisters. He very nearly did not make their meeting, galloping out of Minrathous at the very last minute possible. 

“I have backed off my workload a bit, yes.” 

“Glad to hear it.” Bull bends down to kiss Dorian’s forehead and he closes his eyes, something unknotting in his chest. The thought of missing this precious time together was unacceptable.

“Come here, you big oaf.” He tugs on Bull’s horn and Bull hauls him up effortlessly, wrapping Dorian’s legs around his waist. He is solid and _there_ , and it is the only thing that matters right now. 

“Nah, I think I’d like _you_ to come here instead.” Bull’s eye glints, the way it does when he’s pleased by a particularly terrible come-on. Dorian kisses him, if only so he doesn’t have to acknowledge how truly horrible it is. Bull’s mouth is familiar and welcome, its warmth echoing the curl of heat in his belly that’s starting to make itself felt.

“I think I would rather like to do that on the ground, but if you insist.” He punctuates his statement with a roll of his hips, and is gratified to hear Bull’s breath catch. He feels Bull’s hands shift around his waist, and he drops back down to the ground. 

“You’ve been hanging around me too long, saying something like that.” Bull’s voice is soft, affectionate, a counterpoint to the teeth against Dorian’s neck. The scrape and bite will leave a bruise, but Dorian’s counting on that. (He’ll wear high collars and fashionable scarves for a while, the brush of fabric against it a tangible reminder of the one thing he gets to have solely for himself.) 

Bull’s tongue runs over the spot where his teeth were, soothing where there was sharpness, and Dorian gasps. He feels a smile against his neck, fingers against his hardening cock through his breeches. Bull touches him maddeningly slowly, stroking leisurely, as if this were not the only time they had to spend together for the next year. Dorian wants to be at it now, fucking or being fucked, coming together until they collapse into a pile of sweaty limbs, sated and incoherent.

“Faster. Please,” is all he can manage. 

Bull grins wide now, seeing Dorian roused so quickly. “You’re so easy. I’ve always liked that about you.” 

“Only for you,” Dorian says, meaning it. Bull’s smile disappears, like he’s been punched, and he takes Dorian’s face in his hands, kissing him softly, tenderly. Dorian holds Bull to him, hands roaming over his torso, remapping this body he has known for so long. Some scars are for sure new, but there are ones that he cannot remember if they were there before, and some that he thinks should be there and are not. It makes him ache, to not be able to place this information in his chronology, but then Bull’s hands are inside his shirt, down his breeches, and it does not seem concerning at all. 

He is dressed for travel, and thus more practically, and it is a simple matter for Bull to pull off his shirt and unlace his breeches, stepping out of his smalls until he is completely bare. The air is cool, and Bull’s hands against him are delicious in contrast. Dorian unbuckles the belt holding up Bull’s (still horrific) pants, and is pleased to see that Bull has not been unaffected by their activities. He strokes Bull’s erection, relishing the feel of it underneath his hand after so long. Bull makes a noise, deep in the back of his throat, and Dorian's cock throbs in response. 

Bull pushes down on his shoulder, and Dorian lies back on the ground. The grass is soft but the ground is cold at his back, making him arch into Bull in both lust and desire for warmth. They rut together for a few moments before Bull takes Dorian's cock into his mouth. It is exquisite, wet and hot and almost too much to bear after only the touch of his hand for so long, but he breathes, and he adjusts. He feels a finger work its way to the opening of his hole, teasing around the ring. 

“Wait,” he taps Bull on the horn, and retrieves a bottle from his belt. Bull slicks his fingers with relish, and works them inside. He doesn't do much, just lets Dorian fuck himself against them until he's knuckles-deep. His eye is dark, watching Dorian rock down on his hand. 

“You look so good.” His voice is thready, hoarse. “I'm gonna watch you on me, and think about this when you're not here.” Dorian imagines Bull in a tent, or in the room of a distant inn, lonely and missing him, and suddenly finds it difficult to breathe.

“Touch yourself, amatus,” he says, his voice rough. “I want to see what you do when you think of me.” Bull slicks up his other hand, stroking his cock. He’s gentle at first, but quickly his motions get rougher, his breathing harder. Dorian watches him, trying to memorize the flex of his arm as he grips his length, the way his eye flutters closed. Bull is looming above him now, on his hand and knees, occasionally brushing against Dorian's cock. The sporadic stimulation is maddening, and he puts a hand against Bull's in a silent request. 

“Good thing I can take care of both of us.” Bull kisses Dorian before wrapping his hand around both of them, and Dorian cries out, the extra stimulation and friction sending him over the edge. Bull comes shortly afterwards, pulsing all over Dorian's chest and belly. He finds a cloth from somewhere and cleans Dorian up before laying down next to him, heaving a contented sigh. 

Dorian drapes himself over Bull, feeling a satisfaction he has not experienced in a long time. There will be conversation, catching up, and more rounds of lovemaking (many, if their previous experiences are any guide), but for now, he is satisfied to lay down and sleep. He feels a large arm wrap around him, and he smiles, drifting off.


End file.
